


The Intruder

by gr8escap



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Beefy Bucky, Domestic Bucky Barnes, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 11:49:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10217381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gr8escap/pseuds/gr8escap
Summary: Bucky can't have a pet, he can barely keep himself together, so when he tiny stray rushes through his door, he has to rectify the situation.





	

Bucky stirred the stew on the stovetop, exchanging cautious glances with the cowering mess of fur and pale green eyes in the corner. He’d been distracted, trying to get the reclaimed items he’d found for future projects through the door and the thing had streaked in ahead of him too fast, even for his reflexes. He tried to _tell it_ to go away, but that didn’t work. It had immediately shrunk to half its size and hadn’t budged from the corner the entire time it took him to put his jacket away and take off his shoes.

Not even the soft lamp light and quiet melodies coming from the small radio could soothe it. He ignored it entirely as he settled into his kitchen to tend the stew that had been simmering most of the afternoon. His indifference didn’t seem to reassure the little ball of fluff either.

The clatter of dishes as he pulled a bowl down from the shelf made it curious, he thought, since it stuck its neck out a little, allowing Bucky to see how thin the cat was. Before, it could simply be dismissed as small, but the poor thing wasn’t very well filled out for what appeared to be a mature cat. It wasn’t a _very big_ mature cat, but it – she – wasn’t a kitten. Bucky filled a bowl and walked around to sit at the table and read the paper he’d picked up while he was out.

This wasn’t going to happen. No way in hell was he going to become attached to the mangy, thin, dirty… he looked at her again… He groaned, standing up and crossing cautiously in front of her, and pulled out a chipped plate.

Bucky scraped half of his stew, really good stew that he’d made from Mrs. Constantin’s recipe, onto the plate and stuck it under the pink nose of the thin gray cat. She sniffed and daintily licked at the sauce.

“Picky little punk.” Bucky shook his head, moving stealthily to avoid spooking the sad interloper. “I know how you feel, you gotta take it slow if you ain’t had a lot to eat. Don’t wanna press your luck.” Bucky walked over to the mismatched sofa, “and now I’m talking to a cat.”

No, it _wasn’t happening!_ Bucky thought. It had already happened.

He pulled the large knitted blanket around his shoulders, tucked his toes under the floppy pillow at the end of the couch, and opened his notebook. He groaned when he remembered the other half of his stew, abandoned on the kitchen counter. He was always finding things stashed on shelves and in other odd places, forgotten for some other project.

Hunger outweighed coziness for the time being, and he tossed the soft blanket aside, setting his notebook on the cushion so that he’d remember that was what he’d been doing when he was there last. Bucky scooped another partial ladle full into his dish to warm what had been allowed to cool.

“MEOW!” the large voice coming from his small guest demanded.

“Really?” Bucky pushed his hair back over his shoulder as he stooped to drizzle more stew onto the brightly colored plate. “I _didn’t_ cook for two, you know.”

She was staring at him with a completely different attitude, regal and expectant. He opened the cupboard, pulling out a chocolate bar and a bag of chips. “You shouldn’t have any of this, but maybe this one time, huh?”

Bucky moved around the cat, back to his spot on the couch. He had the packaged snacks under one arm, his bowl in his left hand. He picked up the discarded notebook and sat. The books and snacks were relegated to his lap while he ate his dinner.

What was he going to do about the vagrant currently lapping up stew in his kitchen? He _should_ shoo her out with the broom – but as a boy, that had always seemed so harsh when his mother (or was it one of the neighbor ladies?) did it.

The crinkle of the wrapper as he opened his candy brought the little thing over almost faster than when she had let herself in in the first place. He didn’t hear her as much as he experienced her manifestation in the middle of his lap. She sat tall, stretching her skinny neck up high. He supposed it was to make herself noticeable. He tugged on the blanket that engulfed him and she stumbled before unsheathing claws from all four feet into the muscles of his thigh.

He could take it, he gritted his teeth, he’d taken worse hits than a scrawny cat and her merciless knife toes. “Dammit,” Bucky cursed, “you don’t need to do that.” She plunged her front claws repeatedly into his thigh, kneading at the bulk of it. Bucky nudged her hind end a little and she looked up at him, bumping the hand with the candy bar in it. “Oh no you don’t.”

Bucky set the candy on the arm of the sofa and opened the chips. He broke a small piece off and stuck it in her face, waving it under her nose. “You’re a real menace, you know?”

She ate the little piece and nudged him again, rubbing along the length of his metal forearm. Bucky pulled out a full-sized chip and set it in front of her. She tapped it and patted at it before knocking it off his leg and onto the floor.

“Well you little sh…” He watched her go pouncing after the chip, chasing it as it skittered across the linoleum. Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle, which startled the cat. She froze, hunched over the chip. Bucky knew _that feeling_ all too well. He looked away from her, pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders, and buried his thoughts in his notebook.

Before long he heard skittering and a crunch. Then silence. He smiled readily and continued writing, this time, making a list. If he was down to stew, it was time to do some shopping. He was thinking about the things in his cupboards and fridge when a paw crept up over the edge of the couch. Bucky set another chip on his leg and waited for his visitor to do something about it. Two tentative paw swipes later, the cat’s claw hooked the edge of the chip and it landed on the floor under the couch. Bucky looked over the edge to see the small animal slink underneath. He heard and felt part of the skirmish as she bumped her head along the underside of the couch before slinging the chip across the floor.

Bucky set the pen in the center of his notebook before closing it. He set it, and the chips and empty candy wrapper on the arm of the couch before pulling the blanket tighter over himself. He wasn’t in the mood to finish the list, or to go shopping. Maybe tomorrow. He pulled he hair off his neck, letting it splay across the pillow, and closed his eyes, listening to the soft swoosh and skitter of the cat and her makeshift toy. She was going to have to go, but for now, she wasn’t hurting anything. ‘Maybe tomorrow’, for that as well.

* * *

When Bucky awoke and couldn’t move his head, he started to panic. He found that his head was restrained, but he couldn’t figure out why or how. He looked to the ceiling recognizing the textures, the images he’d seen in them on sleepless nights. He was in his apartment. He took a breath and tried to move his head to the side. There was a tight tug on his hair. He blinked, reciting his name, the date, what he could see in front of him, while reaching tentatively for the top of his head. What he felt was warm fur wrapped around a bone-thin body, and his own hair. Only then did he remember the hobo kitty that had started calling the shots. She was lying across his hair, butted up against his head, effectively rendering him useless.

Bucky was frightened to move her, remembering how frail she had looked. He hadn’t touched something that delicate _and living_ for much longer than he could imagine. If he picked her up, would he crush her? He tried pushing her away from his head with two fingers and received a shove in the head as she stretched.

She started kneading the top of his head, much the same as she’d abused his thigh earlier. Oddly, he found the repetitive movements, and even the prickle of her claws, comforting. The shockingly loud purr emanating from her tiny body and wrapping itself around him was equally reassuring. Bucky nearly let the cat lull him back to sleep, bundled in his blanket, it would be nice just to stay that way all day.

Lying there, stretched out on the couch, swaddled in a blanket, Bucky’s eyes drooped closed as he thought about how he might pick the cat up and move her. What movements and pressure would be required to pick her up gently but effectively? Then he remembered the chips. He reached over his head, beyond the combination of hair and cat, to the folded over package. He pulled a chip from the bag and dangled it over what he hoped from this angle was her head. The kneading stopped, the purring grew quieter, and she let out a “mew”. Bucky tossed a chip across the floor and the cat chased after it using his head as a springboard. Once he was freed from her hold, he had no choice but to get up.

Bucky threw off the blanket and stretched, groaning at the pain that shot down his spine, just another reminder he was alive, he thought. He stood up, stretching again. This time, a nice fulfilling full body stretch. Not quite yoga quality, but open enough to get the blood flowing. Next step, he gathered up the wrapper, the half-bag of chips, and his journal and put them on top of the fridge. He remembered the wrapper should actually go into the trash, so he grabbed it and put it into the bin. There was no more skittering, no crunching, so he looked around for the cat, and discovered her poised in the only sunny spot on the floor, openly cleaning herself. “Yeah, good idea.” Bucky muttered, folding the blanket and draping it across the back of the sofa.

Bucky scratched his neck and pulled his fingers through the length of his hair as he made his way to the bathroom. He started the hot water, allowing it to warm up to a nice, comfortable temperature, before putting the stopper in the drain. He looked at the crate on the back of the toilet, filled with colorful bath supplies. He pulled out a blue bath bomb and an orange one, sniffing each. He decided on the orange one and dropped the homemade Lush knockoff under the water, proceeding to take care of the rest of his morning needs while the tub filled and the steam carried the energizing citrus scent around the room.

He pulled a lemon yellow washcloth from the crate and set it on the side of the tub, tossed a pink and white scrubby onto the water, and set a jumbo-sized clean towel on the toilet lid before stripping out of his pants and tugging the t-shirt over his head. He stepped into the water and sank down, letting the warmth and the soft, fragrant water blanket him. The tub was a little snug, but not uncomfortably so. Many minutes were spent luxuriating in the heat and aroma with his eyes closed.

When Bucky did open his eyes, he could see the length of his hair fanned out in the water, floating around him. He looked down the ripples of his chest and poked his toe out of the water, turning the faucet off. He reached across the surface of the water for the floating pink scrubby. After the dreary darkness, a lifetime of everything being dark and gray, he really liked the bright colors that swirled in his bath. The foam and iridescent colored water pooled in the divots between his muscle groups as he swished the soft nylon mesh over his skin.

The silence of his bath, with the occasional swoosh of water, was interrupted by a tiny “meep”. When Bucky looked up, the little cat was sitting on the edge of the tub where the washcloth had been. The cloth was sinking into the water by his hip, and she looked at him as though daring him to tell her “no”.

“What am I going to do with you, doll?”

Bucky watched the cat as she gracefully traversed the rounded edge of the tub, around to his head, where she sniffed his temple and head-butted him while purring. The bathroom acoustics enhanced the sound.

“So, you want a bath too, do you?” Bucky grinned. “You’re gonna have to wait. You know you have to go today, right?”

She didn’t understand, or she didn’t care. She continued to bump his head until she started fishing strands of his hair out of the water.

Bucky continued to wash himself with the scrubby, until the string caught the little cat’s eye and he started dangling it in front of her, watching her practice her boxing, while balancing on the edge of the tub. He squeezed out the excess water and tossed the scrubby across the bathroom, toward the sink, and the cat leapt from the tub. She landed on the back of the toilet, walked in front of the crate to the sink, where she batted at the scrunchy thing and called out to it with varying meows.

He shook his head at her antics and smiled. Since the scrubby was no longer an option, Bucky dredged the washcloth from the bath to finish washing before lathering his hair and sinking under the water to rinse. When he surfaced, pushing all of his hair back, the cat was perched on the edge of the tub again, waiting for him.

“Ok, you’re gonna have to move. I’m getting out, then it’s your turn. Best way to start your day is to get whatever that is all over you, off. I promise it won’t hurt.” He thought about how he’d still not managed to pick her up, “I hope.”

Bucky chanced picking her up, holding her gently, and set her on the toilet lid after he grabbed his towel. He toweled his hair first, and then the rest of his body. He wrapped the towel around his waist and decided on the sink for cat-bathing duties. He also decided that if she changed her mind, he’d let her.

Halfway through filling the sink he pulled out the half-used bottle of baby shampoo he’d used for months before finding a better option, “what the hell am I doing?” he asked the tiny cat. Of course, by then, she was walking along the edge of the sink, arching her back, purring, and even pawing at him. He figured he had picked her up once and hadn’t crushed her. Maybe he could manage this.

One wet, clean cat later, Bucky was considering an old blow dryer he’d repaired. What would she do? She’d loved the bath, but that was completely different from a screaming, heat blasting electronic device mimicking a shitty windstorm. He decided to pull it out anyway, bending over, and blowing out his own hair. He laughed when she wandered in and out of the long strands, not giving the hair dryer a second thought. He blew it across her back quickly once and again as she wandered around his legs She didn’t seem to mind, so as soon as his own hair was relatively dried, he blew a puff of air across her butt and tail, and then into her face when she turned around. She looked up at him defiantly.

“You’re beautiful. What a way to start the day.” Bucky teased as the tugged the towel from around his waist and dropped it into the hamper. “I, on the other hand have a lot more to do.” Bucky regarded his face and torso in the mirror. Older than he remembered, more tormented than he’d asked for, but he could see some good things too. His eyes landed on the scars at his shoulder. “Just another reminder that you’re alive.”

* * *

It was surprising how many times Bucky thought about his little silver colored visitor while he was out getting his shopping done. She’d followed him out the door, which had been a relief, because he didn’t want to traumatize her by chasing her down. She’d scurried away as soon as he’d kick-started the motorcycle that he’d built from parts. He’d even given in and picked up some cat food while he gathered his staples. He figured that if she came back, it had to be better food for her than just feeding her chips and stew. If she didn’t, he could always give it to one of the ladies in the building who were always caring for the neighborhood’s feral cat community. That’s when the thought hit him. He was becoming one of the ladies in the building.

Not that it was a bad way to be, they were vigilant, took no guff from anyone, and looked out for the other residents. Maybe that was what was keeping him from becoming one of them. He didn’t do anything of the sort, only looking out for himself; and Mrs. Constantin, and maybe the young single mom on his floor and her little girl.

Fuck it. He _was_ one of the ladies in the building.

Outside the grocer, Bucky balanced and tied everything down, securing it on the back of this motorcycle, tucking the smaller items and the eggs into his backpack before setting off for home. He couldn’t help but look around for the cat as he went through the door. As he started putting his groceries away, he decided that she was probably on to her next adventure. He could admit to himself that he felt a little bit of disappointment.

As soon as everything was in its place, Bucky considered changing into workout clothes and running to the railyard, instead of driving. He’d just had a nice bath not that long ago and he honestly didn’t want to get sweaty again so early. Maybe he’d go later. It would be better to go around dusk anyway, fewer people to question his workout choices. He would have gone before dawn, but that little cat had put him straight to sleep and he’d never looked back.

Bucky grabbed his journal off the fridge, picked the blanket up from the sofa, and wrapped it snugly around his shoulders. He sat cross-legged in the corner of the couch, and started writing. Every once in a while he’d jot a name for the cat in the margin, “Ash”, “Lună”, “Cenuşă”, “Cenușăreasă”. Each time he realized what he was doing, he’d scratch a line through the name and return to his memories, thoughts, speculation, and paragraphs of fiction. Those he’d outline with double borders, and put a question mark next to them so he could check and see if it was something he’d read or something he’d authored right there on the spot. His track record was about 3:1 original content.

Bucky stuck flags on the fiction and a few of his speculations, with the word “library” and the date that his current books were due written on them. He then padded across the tile floor in his stockinged feet to the shelf where the library books sat. He pulled the top book off and turned it over, and then he selected the next book in the stack. He put his journal on the fridge, grabbed a package of cupcakes and a glass of water, before returning to his blanket on the couch.

He read and nibbled, engrossed in the story, until the light coming in was dim enough that he had trouble reading comfortably. Bucky looked around, the color of the light indicating that it was nearing time to head out for his workout. He thought about getting workout clothes on, putting his cozy feet into structured shoes, unwrapping from his blanket, and though _none_ of those things sounded appealing to him just then, he pushed himself to do them. Starting with the blanket, and a frown, he folded the blanket neatly and geared himself up for at least a run. If he was able to entertain the notion at all, it was better to get out and just do it.

The run to the railyard was uneventful, and the evening air was cool enough to allow him to enjoy it. With the streets on this route sparsely populated at this hour, he was able to push himself a little, getting to his hidden cache of improvised workout tools a little sooner. This wasn’t the first time the irony of his choice of makeshift gym made him laugh.

The abandoned shipping container was the perfect “building” at least on cooler days. The 200# railroad ties, even heavier train wheels, and the various other heavy-duty rail supplies made lifting more challenging. He often wondered what the crews thought when they found their maintenance cars moved anywhere from a few yards to a few hundred feet from where they’d left them. He was going to have to keep an eye out for added security cameras, or maybe he should stop pushing the speeders along the track.

Sweaty and hungry, Bucky paced his return trip by running through the quieter streets and walking through neighborhoods. He picked up speed as he reached the alleyway to his building’s back door. He stripped out of his shirt and used it to mop sweat from his face as he mounted the stairs. He was pleasantly surprised by the silvery surprise at his door, looking up at him with pale green eyes. She had the audacity to “Mew” at him.

“Really?” He begrudgingly smiled. “I guess you can come in. No home cooking tonight, we’re both eating conveniently. You get cat food, and it’s freezer fare for me.”

However, the last half of his statement was only half-true. It was from the freezer, but it was a wonderful home-cooked dinner Mrs. Constantin had sent home with him. Bucky put the frozen meal into the oven before putting some cat food onto the chipped plate from the night before. “Humble apologies princess, but I’m not about to start a kitchen project.” She pawed at his thigh as he crouched, holding the plate aloft. He watched for her possible retreat and chuckled when she didn’t budge. He and scratched behind her ear, finding an injury that hadn’t been there when he’d bathed her. “Well what did you do? Did you go out and get into trouble?” Bucky inspected it before setting the plate down. “I think you’ll live.

Bucky went into the bathroom, leaving her privacy to eat. For his own privacy, he closed the door and drew his second bath for the day. This time, he chose the blue bomb. He held it to his nose and inhaled. “Lavender should get the job done.” He sat on the side of the tub, watching as the water ran, dissolving the bath bomb, and turning blue. He decided tonight might be a good night to check the roof garden. He could see if there was more lavender to harvest, as well as some chamomile. He was going to need to dry more for tea soon. Maybe he’d even treat himself to some fresh chamomile tea, if the blossoms were plentiful enough.

Sinking into the water, he thought about the little cat, and how excited he’d felt when she appeared at his door. It made exactly no sense, because she had to go. He swished silky water over his abs and chest with a scrubby sponge, this time a green one, and settled his shoulders against the back of the small tub. He felt the warm water slosh and lap over his skin as he moved. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of his best copycat recipe yet. As the splish-splash sound of the water eased, he heard a thunk on the other side of the bathroom door and jumped. Surging to a seated positon and splashing water over the side of the tub, he grabbed the knife from behind the cute, color-filled crate.

Wary and anxious, he caught his breath when two silver paws darted under the door and the thunk repeated. “Lună”. He scolded. Apparently, that was her name now, “Don’t fucking do that.”

His tone was tender, but his heart was still pounding. He coolly replaced the knife and decided his bath was done. With a sigh, Bucky let the water drain away and dried himself before tossing the towel onto the spill on the floor. Warm, clean clothes were his consolation prize. He opened the bathroom door and “Lună” made her signature “meow” as she leapt up onto the sink, she watched as he tugged his jeans up. He laughed at her, scratching under her chin. She responded with a purr, and put her paws up on Bucky’s left shoulder. “I guess that makes you the prize. You do realize I can bathe without you. What? I gave you food.”

Her paws slipped along the metal at his shoulder, unable to sink her claws into anything. Bucky touched her pink nose with his index finger, and she sat, balanced on the edge of the sink. “I don’t know what to do about you.”

“Mew.”

“No, I don’t think it’s that simple Lună, I just don’t.” Bucky saw his smile in the mirror. “Want to come out onto the roof with me?”

Bucky tugged his shirt on and led the cat from the bathroom. He turned the oven off before grabbing a hoodie, two large bowls, and his garden shears. He led the parade of two up the stairs and through the door, out onto the roof. The city sounds were clear, but not as loud up here. It made him feel at home, as he wandered around his reclaimed wood planters, built one at a time inside his apartment over the colder months. The herbs had grown tall, or bushy, or low, all depending on the variety. Bucky set the bowls down next to the chamomile pots and started meticulously harvesting each blossom. The fairy lights that hung above the rows of containers were just enough light for him to sit comfortably on the edge of the pot and be able to see what he was doing.

Lună wandered between all of the containers and found the edge of the roof. Bucky’s heart hitched when she jumped up onto the wall. It wasn’t his place to scold her; she clearly knew what she was doing. It had been a long, long time since he’d had to scold someone for doing something stupidly dangerous. He’d learned that everybody had their own threshold and it wasn’t up to him to make sense of it. That didn’t stop him from looking over in her direction from time to time between harvesting.

Once his biggest bowl was full of chamomile blooms, Bucky moved on to the lavender. Lună followed him slyly, keeping to the wall, but tracking his movements. She wandered down the decorative staggered brick and leapt toward the lavender container. Bucky watched as she pressed one paw into the stems and then withdrew it, before putting both front feet in the center of one of the large plants. He smiled as she made three concentric circles and curled up right in the middle of the lavender plant he was trying to work on. She yawned up at him when he sighed. Bucky shook his head and grabbed a bunch of lavender stems, bunching and trimming, as the cat rolled onto her back, fast asleep.

“Is it the lavender? Or just a long day? I get it Lună,” Bucky looked up at the moon, “I still have some work to do before I can join you.”

Once the lavender was carefully pruned, Bucky clipped a mint sprig for tonight’s tea, and made a mental note to come up for more in the morning. He had a recipe for mint jelly he wanted to make, as well as some sweet treats. He gathered his harvest, and was content to leave the small sleeping visitor in her lavender bed beneath the three-quarter moon, but as soon as she heard the door click open, she was at his ankle with an accusatory “meoooow”

“By all means.” Bucky held the door and watched as she scurried ahead, and turned back to him with a peevish look. “What did I do? Who even said you were invited?” He chuckled as they made their way down to the next level.

Bucky started preparing the flowers for drying, hanging lavender bundles from his shelves, spreading chamomile flowers across a fine screen. He popped a handful of flowers and the mint sprig into a length of cheesecloth, which he tied off with twine. He set the makeshift teabag into his oversized mug and put the kettle on to boil.

Lună wandered between his feet and legs, making small, squawking noises, so Bucky found a bowl, and filled it with cool water. He set it down where her plate still sat, which reminded him that his dinner still waited in the oven. He picked up the plate and set it into the sink before opening the oven to inspect his food. He turned the heat back on figuring that by the time his kettle boiled, his dinner would be warmed up again.

Bucky continued tying and hanging lavender stalks while the stove worked its magic on his water and dinner. Lună went from lapping up water, to batting a fallen chamomile flower across the floor. Bucky pulled open the junk drawer and found a straw. He peeled the paper away, revealing bright green plastic. A sharp whistle got the cat’s attention, and he started wiggling the plastic over her head. She reached up, batting and pawing at it. Bucky withdrew it, snipped it in half with the scissors, and flicked one of the halves across the room. He laughed quietly as she chased it and cornered it by the door, then bounced it off the wall and chased it across the floor again.

Bucky ate his dinner standing over the sink, watching and listening as the cat chased the straw across the linoleum. She’d get very mouthy if she managed to get the straw stuck in the corner, but for the most part, she was able to free it on her own. He’d only had to kick it across the floor a couple of times. His laugh still startled her, and when it did, she’d freeze and cower. Once he’d laughed at her rolling somersault and she’d skittered under the couch to hide. His quiet singsong voice didn’t help, but the crinkle of last night’s chip bag sure brought her around.

While his tea steeped, Bucky washed the four dishes. He pulled the tea bag out and opened it up to let the flowers dry. He decided to sweeten tonight’s tea with a bit of honey. He could still smell the lavender on his fingers from harvesting, and in his hair from his bath. Tomorrow he’d use the rest of his dried herbs and make some more bath bombs after the jelly and mint treats. He was thinking maybe a strawberry tart. Possibly multiple small tarts he could share with Mrs. Constantin, Julia, and her little Ava.

With his tea still in hand, Bucky sat on the couch and took one shoe off at a time. He tucked his feet beneath himself and drew the blanket over either shoulder. Once he was comfortable, he opened the book he’d been reading earlier, and started reading more about Greasers and Socs.

Before long, Luna gave up on her toy, content to groom herself on the opposite end of the couch. She didn’t rest when she was done, instead crossing from the couch to the coffee table. Bucky shifted to lie across the couch and shooed her off the table with a quick hiss. She bravely hopped down, wandered around the coffee table, and rose up on her hind legs next to the couch, patting Bucky on the arm. “Mew…” pause; pat-pat. “Mew…” Bucky turned from the book to look at her narrow face. He reached past her, careful not to spook her, and pulled out a chip. He held it out to her and grinned when she licked it, appearing to try holding it between her paws.

“Listen, you already have built up expectations. You can’t do that. I’m not the guy for you. I’m not reliable, I’m not always this quiet, and I might forget to feed you. Nope, scratch that, you keep reminding me. It did take me almost twenty-four hours to think to give you water though. You’re doomed if you stay here.”

She nibbled the chip while he held it, ignoring every word he uttered.

“I give you chips, cat. That has to be the first rule of not being qualified to keep an animal. If the water thing isn’t the first rule, that is.” Bucky dropped the chip and watched her nibble on it before he sat back on the couch again. “I can’t have a cat Lună. You just don’t understand. I’m still working on keeping myself.”

“Mew.” She disagreed, jumping up in the middle of him. She sat on his midsection and bumped her head against the book he held.

Bucky lifted the book and looked at her under the roof it made. “Yes? Your complaint has been lodged.”

She stepped under the book tunnel and curled up in the center of his chest, flipping his chin with her tail until he laughed. He held the book so that he could still see it, trying to read, despite the hour and the rhythmic purring resonating in his chest. Before long, his eyes drooped closed, and the arm holding the book relaxed, dropping to dangle over the edge of the couch. When the book fell to the floor with a light clatter and a swish, it didn’t bother either sleeper.

* * *

Bucky yawned and stretched, rolling onto his side, and got four sharp claws buried in his pec for his trouble. Lună didn’t weigh enough for him to realize she was still there. “I’m sorry.” He offered in a sleepy voice as he eased back onto his back and scratched her ear. “How’s your wound?”

He looked toward the window, there should be enough light to inspect it, if she’d cooperate. Lună flicked her ear when he tried to look at it.

“I guess it’s fine then.” He chuckled. “You’ve overstayed your welcome, princess. Today you have to go.”

The silvery cat with the cool green eyes disagreed by hunkering down and purring against his chest.

“You don’t believe me? I’ve told you repeatedly, you’re better off without me. I promise I’ll miss you. You can come visit me in the garden sometimes. That would be nice.”

“Meow.” She was firm; maybe more firm with him than he was with her.

“You can’t. The boss will make you go. You know, the landlord? He’s gonna make me get rid of you, so you might as well make yourself scarce before I have to make a scene. You’ve never seen a pet movie, have you? There’s way too much crying.”

“Mew.” She stretched her front toes out ahead of her, pressing them against his mouth.

“Lună. Oh, Lună, Lună.” Bucky said, not moving the pink pads from his mouth. “Please don’t make me fight the landlord.”

The cat stretched her legs farther than he thought she could, pressing against them his lip again before standing and giving a full stretch. He watched her stand up and walk along his left side. She stepped off from his shoulder and sat down on the cushion next to Bucky’s ear. She bumped her little head against the side of his several times before he reached up to pet her head. He smiled as her purring started in.

“You’re just buttering me up for food.”

Deeper purring and she lay down between his ear and the side of the couch, putting her chin on his shoulder, pushing against it with her paws

“You’re gonna make me fight the landlord aren’t you Lună?”

Bucky knew the cat wasn’t going anywhere, he’d known it that first night. This wasn’t happening. It had already happened.

**Author's Note:**

> gift for [@phoenixgryphon](http://phoenixgryphon.tumblr.com/) from the [@beefybuckyswap](https://beefybuckyswap.tumblr.com/)
> 
> after reading, [@phoenixgryphon](http://phoenixgryphon.tumblr.com/) created the adorable artwork of soft, beefy Bucky and Lună - best surprise ever!!


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